


Wrought

by bettervillains



Series: By The Throat [2]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Handcuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:06:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7261570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettervillains/pseuds/bettervillains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A determined Earp could be dangerous. Nicole knew that already. She hadn’t, however, expected how prepared one could be. The click of cool steel against her skin set that record straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrought

**Author's Note:**

> Could read this as a sequel to Bottleneck, or on its own. Up to you! This is mostly a gift to a few people, and a thanks for a great response to my first fic in a long-ass time.

“And… open.”

For a moment, Nicole Haught considered ignoring the request. She could feel Waverly’s gentle weight perched on her waist, knees tucked on either side of her hips. With a flick of her wrist, she could tug the youngest Earp against her, pull the blanket over them, and drift off to sleep. 

But Waverly wanted this, more than Nicole had seen her want anything since… she smiled. Since Nedley’s office. Since the couch. Since Nicole had wrapped her fingers around Waverly’s wild scarf and tugged her close, closer, kissing distance…

Nicole opened her eyes. Waverly was wearing her jacket, and her hat. 

She shivered. How long had it been, since she’d felt like this? Months, at least. Years. A town like Purgatory had a very different definition of _partner_ than Nicole, a word she’d turned over on her tongue in the dead of night, nearly enough drinks downed to out… that was a long time ago, but the memory of that acrid fear still haunted her, like some beast she couldn’t quite put down, rising over and over again…

She met Waverly’s eyes, and a taut heat wreathed her stomach, washing away the memory of that fear, coiling in aroused interest, in anticipation, hungry for — 

Waverly threaded her fingers into Nicole’s hands, and moved them above her head, leaning down to kiss her gently. Nicole sighed.

“God, Wav…”

Waverly tsked.

“Sheriff Earp.”

Nicole smirked. “You’d get lost in a hatbox, sheriff.”

Waverly frowned, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s rude, deputy. Might just need to teach you a lesson.”

“Yeah,” Nicole challenged, playful, “You might just.”

A determined Earp could be dangerous. Nicole knew that already. She hadn’t, however, expected how prepared one could be. The click of cool steel against her skin set that record straight.

Nicole glanced up at her wrists. The chain of her handcuffs were wound through the bars of the headboard. When had Waverly fetched them? Probably around the time she’d tracked down Nicole’s stetson. 

Nicole tugged. They were, she realized with some dismay and some more delight, fastened snugly.

Waverly tipped her hat.

“Ready, deputy?”

Nicole laughed — a sound that choked into a groan as Waverly unzipped Nicole’s jacket, revealing nothing but the wondrous expanse of her bare skin underneath. 

What followed was the most delectably frustrating five minutes of Nicole’s entire life, with Waverly slowly grinding her hips, flush with Nicole’s, moving to an inaudible music, arms now and then spiraling above her head, taking hold of the hat. Nicole’s arms tensed and tugged at her restraints — but they were weapons grade, after all, and she realized with horror and another spike of arousal straight to her core that she wouldn’t be rid of them until Waverly had mercy, until Waverly gave in…

Earps, she had learned, rarely gave in.

“How you feelin’, deputy?” Waverly drawled, smug. Nicole swallowed.

“Hot.”

“I can tell,” Waverly replied, and she glanced down at the boxer briefs that hugged Nicole’s hips…

And there it was. A flicker of uncertainty, nervousness… fear?

“Hey,” Nicole murmured, “You okay?”

Waverly drew a deep breath, and flicked a smile at her again. This was Waverly, the Earp that gripped a shotgun as her weapon of choice, that had trained herself to hold firm against the buck of that _beast_ of a rifle. Cowardice wasn’t in her character. Challenge was.

One hand snaked down Nicole’s taut stomach, over the pack of muscles that howled and heaved with every breath, under the hem of her briefs… and just as she made contact, Waverly braced her hand on Nicole’s chest for support, kneading a taut breast.

“Time for that lesson,” Waverly murmured, and her fingers, hidden from Nicole’s sight, teased, achingly, not quite making the contact Nicole so fervently desired. A low whine, like a starved coyote, clawed its way out of Nicole’s throat, and her hips rolled, desperately. Waverly, in response, laid hold of her throat, and held her down.

Nicole froze, hips relaxing against the bed again. Waverly’s lips quirked into a smirk. 

“Don’t interrupt,” Waverly murmured, pecking a kiss to Nicole’s lips. She resisted the urge to whimper, as Waverly continued, “Did you know the words _wrist_ and _writhe_ come from the same origin?”

“No,” Nicole huffed.

“Seems appropriate,” Waverly said with a smile, nipping her right wrist, “Don’t you think?”

For a moment, Nicole said nothing. Waverly dragged her fingertips down through her briefs again, tips wet.

“I think,” Nicole replied, almost a growl, almost a roll of thunder, “That if you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to break your bed.”

Waverly blinked, cheeks flushed. Nicole tugged sharply at the cuffs, and the headboard creaked weakly. 

Waverly wanted to reply a handful of things. _God that’s sexy._ Or, _point taken._ But the illusion begged to be carried on, the game of light touch and dark eyes begged to be played. 

“Can’t have that,” Waverly replied, hoarse, clearing her throat, “Can we, deputy?”

“Then you’d better hold me down.”

Waverly bit her lip, tightened her grip on Nicole’s throat. She nodded, and Waverly, at last, dipped her fingers.

The response was immediate, the deputy’s head tipping back with a groan, hips arching off the bed, throat pressing into her palm. Waverly, against all odds, found a way to stir a rhythm into the serpentine writhe of Nicole’s hips, and between the two of them, the push and pull of sweet sweat and gnarled muscle, between breaths and heartbeats, Nicole thundered towards an ending — 

Waverly, seeing her eyes screwed shut, held fast to the base of her throat, never quite constricting, always tender, always taut. There was a gasp, and a groan, and a dangerously brittle creak of the headboard, and then the deputy lay still, stomach uncoiled at last, muscles relaxing. 

“God,” Nicole panted out, as Waverly withdrew her hand, curled into her chest. Her forehead found purchase in the crook of her neck, where the red mark of Waverly’s handprint remained. Nicole’s lips pressed against her forehead, a kiss sweet with sweat, pulses pounding in rhythm. 

“I didn’t hurt you?” Waverly murmured, softly, timid. Nicole could have crowed, could have cried, all at once.

“No, baby,” Nicole said, swallowing against the dry thirst in her throat. “No, all good. All good stuff.”

Waverly touched her cheek, blushed as Nicole turned her head to capture her fingertips in a kiss.

Waverly’s response was priceless. _“Oh.”_

Nicole smiled, teeth grazing her index finger, tongue flicking out. Waverly let out a whoosh of a breath, heart skipping a handful of beats. 

“Now, Sheriff,” Nicole drawled, and it felt good to have her voice, strong and sated, back again, “If you wouldn’t mind uncuffing me, I think I’m ready for a lesson of my own.”


End file.
